for all the chilly nights in student houses, and a diet consisting mostly of bagels, my overriding memory of my student days in london is of the glitz and glamour of the handbag house scene.

every saturday night i transcended my student status to dress in fluffy boots, satin skirts and babydolls dresses in subzero temperatures. in those days, cabs were not an option, at least not on the way into town. no we braved the cold and the disapproving or amused stares of more sensibly dressed tube passengers. oh we had the figures for it then, we didn’t care…

we shopped in big apple in covent garden and hyper hyper on kensington high street, we wore love hearts jewellery and dressed like giant sweets. we sucked on lollipops and took feather boas out clubbing that we would drape over the nearest person who wasn’t dancing.

these were great clubs for girls who wanted a hassle free night out. most of the male clientele were gay, and fabulous. the whole scene was borne out of an appreciation of the supermodels, house music and er, rupaul. it was colourful, flamboyant and more than a little cliquey.

perhaps the ultimate downfall of the scene was that the clubs – malibu stacey, puscha, miss moneypenny’s, love to be – were so focused on aesthetics that there simply weren’t enough good looking customers to meet their exacting standards. or enough girls willing to dress up as hello kitty.

still, it was fun while it lasted and on the nights we were dressed ludicrously enough to gain entry. we posed on podiums, sashayed and pretended we were in a george michael video.